Beach Retreat
by Tiw-K
Summary: Summary: Mohinder's sent with Elle on a mission and things don't go as planned... Mylar fic. Incomplete oneshot.


Disclaimer: Don't own Heroes or the characters.

A/N: This is an incomplete fic. I don't think I'll be working on it anymore, so I decided to just post what I have now.

Warnings: Drinking, sunburns, language, implied smut stuff but nothing real graphic.

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The sweltering heat made sweat drip from ebony curls and forced him to open his arms wide to embrace the salty ocean breeze as waves pounded against the shore. He squinted, blinded by sun reflecting off the pure white sand, and sighed heavily through dry cracked lips; this wasn't what he had in mind when he was sent to research another 'special' on the tropic beaches of Mexico. 

"You need to chill, relax!" Elle's voice droned behind him, her body spread out across a lounge chair wearing a skimpy bathing suit that barely hid her breasts, "You should enjoy the sun."

Mohinder clenched his fists, took a calming breath and chose not to respond. Bob hadn't sent them to live a luxurious life for the week they were staying; they had a job to do, they had a young woman, with the potentially dangerous shanti virus, to find.

Elle, however, had different ideas and had refused to follow Mohinder on his fruitless trips through the vine-filled jungles, choosing to sunbathe on the beach while being served drinks by cute, eager young men.

"I'm going for a walk." He ground out, turning on the heel and walking through sifting sand that left footprints in his wake. Elle's bubbly and now very annoying laughter followed him as he left.

He stepped up onto the deck of the bar, mentally rejoicing the drop in temperature brought about by the shading ceiling, and moved to order a drink.

The glass was cool to touch, perspiration sliding down the sides as foam bubbled at the top, and Mohinder downed the whole drink in one go; the icy liquid soothing his parched throat as it flowed down making him exhale with refreshment.

"Another one, please," He told the waiting bartender and the dark-skinned Mexican grinned at him with a knowing smile, serving up more and more drinks whenever his empty glass clinked the smooth polished counter.

It wasn't long before the cheerful buzzing was swimming around in his mind, the open-aired room swayed and people's voices blended together as the effects of alcohol took hold. The air started feeling cooler, his white button-down shirt felt too done up, and Mohinder's hand didn't move quite as accurately as it had done before.

"No, no, senior! I've had 'nough." Mohinder giggled as the bartender moved to grab his cup—whether it was his sixth cup or ninth, Mohinder didn't know anymore.

Mohinder slid from his chair, swaying unsteadily on his feet, and headed towards the hotel pool. As much as swimming in the ocean sounded good and felt good in his mind, his still partly rational side convinced him that it probably wasn't a good idea.

The sidewalk wasn't as straight as he remembered it to be, wasn't as big either, and Mohinder couldn't avoid bumping shoulders with another patron of the resort walking, grumbling, from the other way.

"Hey! Watch it you assho--" The other man's growl cut off as he turned to face Mohinder, staring openly in shock.

"Ah! I'm so sorry!" Mohinder tried apologizing but giggles erupted from his lips as his world failed to return upright.

An arm moved to steady him before he toppled over, clenching a little harder than was need. Mohinder squirmed under that sweaty grip, eyes squinting up at a face that was swimmingly familiar.

"Who--?" He slurred, reaching up to feel that face and clumsily smacking it instead for having no control over his momentum.

"Shit!" That face flinched away with a hiss, fingers unclenching from Mohinder's arm to move up and rub at his face.

Something about that voice was so familiar. It pulled at Mohinder's thoughts and had him furrowing his brow as he tried to recognize it; he knew this man from somewhere, now it only he'd stay still and stop multiplying before Mohinder's eyes.

"You—Are you drunk, Mohinder?" Such an incredulous tone came with that question and that face looked, when he squinted, redder than usual.

Mohinder leaned in nice and close, having to stand almost on tip toes to be eye level with the taller man, and blinked at sharp brown eyes. A nose came into focus, wrinkling as it smelled the heavy stench of alcohol on Mohinder's breath, and it was followed by dark bushy eyebrows that arched up high on a blotchy red brow.

"I know you," Mohinder prodded into that shoulder, not noticing the hiss between clenched teeth. "I know you! Yer—Yer—That guy."

Mohinder twirled away, almost toppling into the flowery bushes, and made his way back towards the shady bar while muttering under his breath. His feet slapped against the stone pathway, getting only five stumbling steps away, before the name slipped into his mind and his spine snapped up as a name slipped through his lips, "Sylar."

A hand clamped over his mouth, smothering the cries aching to spring forth, and an arm curled around his waist to pull Mohinder off the path and over to the closest guest lodgings.

Sylar cast his illusions over himself and his struggling prey making it appear as if no one was walking the path, though it was an almost unneeded gesture because very few people were around during the middle part of the day; it was just too hot for them so they hid in their rooms.

Mohinder clawed at Sylar's arm, adrenaline pumping through his veins and getting rid of his alcoholic daze. His struggles started slowing, finally ceasing, when something strange started rubbing off Sylar's arm to stick under his nails. It took him a moment of investigation, eyes going cross-eyed as he tried to look at the hand over his mouth, to realize it was skin peeling off Sylar's arm; red, sunburned skin that felt over-heated over his own flesh.

The freezing blast of air as Sylar dragged Mohinder into his room, having manipulated the lock into opening with his telekinetic force, made the Indian shiver and wish he hadn't unbuttoned his shirt after having so many drinks.

Sylar deposited Mohinder onto his bed, easing the burning pain from holding Mohinder against him, and investigated his scratched, peeling skin with distaste. Mohinder stared up at Sylar's looming form, trying not to gawk as the taller man peeled off his black wife beater to reveal more red, peeling skin across his chest and back.

"What're you doin' here?" Mohinder grimaced, even though his mind was mostly clear of the alcoholic effects it appeared his speech was still slurring.

Sylar peeled a layer of skin from his left arm, exhaling heavily, and then grinned down at Mohinder.

"What do you think I'm doing here?" He countered, leaning down over Mohinder's form with a hungry grin, making his Indian prisoner scramble backwards with fear.

Sylar crawled after him slowly, enjoying the fear flashing behind those bright mocha eyes and listening closely as Mohinder's heartbeat increased into a rapid tempo.

Mohinder's kept scrabbling backwards until he reached the end of the bed; his right hand reached backwards and landed on nothing but empty air, his momentum making him fall back and knock his head on the wall as he was squished awkwardly into the small space.

Sylar's rumbling laughter erupted from up above him, that head peaking over the side to peer with unabashed amusement at Mohinder's perplexed and flushing form.

"You're really amusing while drunk," He grinned, reaching down to drag Mohinder back onto the bed and spreading him out so his back was against the sheets, limbs being pinned down by his weight.

"L—Let, leggo!" Mohinder whined, fighting against tears burning in his eyes.

Sylar's head tilted, he observed Mohinder's face with contemplative eyes before brushing away a stray tear with the pad of his thumb.

"You don't need to cry. I'm not going to do anything; at least not to you—yet." Sylar pulled back and smirked wryly as Mohinder tried following him up. He pressed with his mind to keep Mohinder's shoulders connected with the bed and walked over to his bathroom to take a cold shower; his skin was really starting to itch.

Mohinder pressed hesitantly against the invisible binds, his chest was heaving from the exertion of his earlier struggles and wasn't calming down. He gasped for air feeling dizzy; wishing he hadn't drank so much beforehand. There was no telling what Sylar would do next, what he would do to Mohinder next--those dark brown eyes had been haunting, stirring up memories Mohinder was sure he had locked away once and for all--and that made the bound man panic more; making him become more desperate to escape.

Sylar sighed as the spray of water finally stopped stinging his tortured flesh and started soothing away the burns. He scraped away at the peeling skin Mohinder had already started to tear off and hissed when the water pummeled the new layer bringing it stingingly to life. He grits his teeth, cursing again at his lack of foresight for not bringing or wearing sunscreen, and grabbed a towel from the rack.

Toweling himself dry, having turned off the tap using his power, Sylar smirked as he heard Mohinder's heartbeat finally slow down it's erratic pace; he could hear the Indian sag against the bed exhausted, panting for breath, and couldn't resist the urge go out and meet the other man again--set that heart racing once more.

Mohinder jumped, startled from his meditative breathing, when the bathroom door slammed open and Sylar stalked out—with glistening wet, reddish skin and a pure white towel hung loosely around his sashaying hips. Mohinder couldn't help but stare, his brain shutting down at the sight while his jaw inched open in shock.

Sylar didn't even bother getting on clothes; he climbed up on top of Mohinder's prone form, dripping drops of water from his nose, and dragged those dark, unresisting wrists to rest, pressed tightly, above the gaping Indian's head.

"Like what you see?" Sylar purred grinning down at shocked lusting eyes that sparked to life as his words sunk in and brought Mohinder back to his senses.

"You bastard! Leggo!" Mohinder bared his pearly, white teeth and jerked his body furiously under Sylar's hold, actually hissed in anger like a riled up cat—something he only did because he was drunk, Sylar presumed.

The struggle, the fury, only served amuse Sylar more and he leaned in close enough for his breath to ghost across Mohinder's lips, swiping his hot tongue across Mohinder's salty sweat-slicked cheek before pulling back to take in the entirety of that sputtering, cursing form.

"You—You—"

Mohinder shrank away from Sylar, the warm saliva on his cheek was having a strange effect on his body for it cooled and felt pleasurable in the air-conditioned room. Mohinder tried to will the betraying sensations, betraying thoughts—of Sylar's tongue traveling down his chest, tugging his shirt off, cooling him down but also heating him up—away before he did something he regretted.

Sylar chuckled, patting Mohinder on the cheek before rising from the bed once more, "You're just too easy."

Turning his head away, Mohinder forced himself not to watch as Sylar changed into some clean clothes. He squeezed his eyes shut, to the point of almost being painful, as he heard Sylar's towel fall rumpled to the floor and focused instead on breathing in and out, in and out, one after the other.

"You can open your eyes, I'm done." Sylar's voice breathed in his ear forcing Mohinder to jerk away, as far as the telekinetic bindings would allow, in surprise; not expecting Sylar to get so close without notice.

A hand brushed away the curls sticking to his brow while brown eyes gazed into him, past physical barriers, in the unnerving way that always made Mohinder shiver. Sylar stared and stared, eyes flicking from side to side, until Mohinder started to squirm under the intensity.

Comprehension slowly seemed to filter behind Sylar's eyes—obviously coming to a conclusion about something for he nodded his head just slightly— and he pulled away to give Mohinder some much needed breathing room.

"It's a good thing I got to you first," Sylar informed his captive while buttoning up his own white shirt over his lobster-red skin as he padded towards the door.

"What d'you mean? What're you planning?" Mohinder struggled to rise to his feet but Sylar pinned him back down with a careful application of force.

Sylar pulled the door open and offered a parting grin, its evilness sending tendrils of fear shuddering down Mohinder's spine.

"Just going to go pay back a certain zap-happy bitch, nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about," He responded, watching the rising horror spread across Mohinder's face before using telekinesis to cut off his air supply, knocking him unconscious.

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End file.
